


Silica Sands

by DrMorbius



Category: Conan the Barbarian & Related Fandoms, Red Sonja - Fandom, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Willow (1988), abuse to children, abuse to women
Genre: Cannibalism, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Physical Abuse, Same-Sex Marriage, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrMorbius/pseuds/DrMorbius
Summary: An Alternative Fantasy Universe, one single planet subdivided into 7 Family Group States.A medieval AU style, think Red Sonja meets Star Wars and you're almost there!A woman has been held prisoner by a rival Family Group, on the way back from negotiating a treaty with her neighbouring kingdom.This is the story of a very unusual woman, the friends she makes, the debts she must repay, and a love bigger than herself.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter One

SILICA SAND

It was raining hard.

Each drip met cold flesh, turning it to warm salty fluid, it trickled from her temple into eyes bloodshot and black.

Anger

Hatred

Disgust.

The three things she had.

Nothing else.

A rumble of thunder, no, an empty stomach, painfully empty, prolonged made her dizzy, limbs heavy.

She wouldn't eat what they gave her anyway, when they gave her anything.

The rain, tainted pink, dribbled into a broken mouth, alleviating thirst, she needed it to rain harder.

In amongst the stains, peppered dirt grazes, ruptured blood vessels, there used to be a woman. She wasn't sure if anything was left after they finished. A stretch against tiredness she could just about feel her extremities. They'd not cut anything off yet. But a dull ache, a twang in her left wrist gave her pause.

It was broken, the last attempt to run had been thwarted, vigorously.

She'd given up.

Now a vessel for their hate, lust, anger, disgust.

Made barren of all feeling, she hung limply from the scaffold, arms tied around the wrists and elbows, arms tearing out of the sockets in the rain. 

Keeping her awake.

The rain washed evidence away, it washed sweat and cum and blood away.

She'd be sick if she had anything to bring up apart from green foul smelling bile, this time they had masturbated around her, daring each other who could cum first. To throw spend then spit onto her naked body.

A Soggy biscuit.

Rain wasn't an enemy, rain fed the forest, cleaned the air, it kept life alive and when the lightning struck it shouted to her.

“Live”

Hair matted in the darkness, torn out in clumps, bruised, broken, she watched through a half open right eye at the firelight and cursed the life it tickled with its warmth, the tent flaps of the makeshift camp sheltered the occupants from nature and life.

In a clearing

In the forest

Far from home.

The sounds of argument, cheerfulness, laughter and song pushed through the raging downpour. A smell of cooking meat turned her stomach.

She'd rather smell their shit.

And she had, numerous times, covered in it as they threw it at her as a joke, a target of amusement, mocking her.

They knew who she was, had from the start.

They'd been sent to search, picked up her scent and the accompanying party of friends.

The forest wasn't safe, yet they travelled it, well supported by guards, weapons and deep battle training. 

That day was difficult to remember, she had no idea how long she'd been hanging from the tree. The party had taken a slow walk through the tree's, back from negotiating a treaty with the neighbouring House Group. A pact long promised, now made manifest. 

The forest fell in on them.

All were killed.

Bar two, one of which died of his wounds as he hung beside her. 

A desperate struggle, at least three to one, the party took down a surprising number before the raiders finally overwhelmed them with sheer numbers.

They captured the prizes they were looking for, killed one by accident, their master would not be happy with that outcome. 

But they still had her.

Brother and Sister, now only the sister remained.

Past child bearing age, sturdy, tall and strong, fierce and redoubtable. A bodyguard to her smaller, slighter, more graceful brother. The apple of his father's eye, the negotiator with their enemy, now an ally.

He had the treaty to prove their fealty.

It had flamed in the fire in a single ash.

So much for Vellum.

The sister suspended, twisted her toes on the floor, disturbing the bloody puddle on the rock floor.

She'd heard it.

She'd smelt it.

She'd felt it approaching.

The last raid this company would ever make, was now under intense observation. 

A wonder the camp guards didn't sense the hatred lurking at the treeline. It was so obvious, the force was making more noise than the thunderstorm.

Was it deliberate?

Was the company so blind to threat?

Were they so arrogant in great numbers, her men had killed 7 of them to 1 of their force. 

Hanging in the cooling benevolent rain, in pain, in calm, in anticipation.

She waited.

A spear had pierced her side.

The pain woke her from shock into panic.

Noise

Death

Smoke.

Bloody she lay as if dead in the puddle beneath the gallow tree.

Crying?

The children in the company were wailing.

Good.

They'd watched her torture as if they were learning their alphabet. The parents pointing at the best places to strike and cause pain, cause scarring, cause death. How to pleasure a woman, how to draw the most blood.

Other voices.

She could hear their laughter in her broken head, and now the children cried! Seeing parents hacked to death, strangled, raped, throttled, stabbed and slashed in the grey twilight of dawn. Each tent ripped open, loose flaps of fabric stolen from other Family Groups fluttered in the stiffening warm breeze. 

Smoke coughing children were roped together as their parents were boiled alive, roasted and fed to them. 

She had no heart for their cries.

They were as duplicitous as their cruel torturer parents.

How could you reason with such a race?

The only thing they valued was pain, stolen gold, power over their House Group neighbours and human flesh.

She'd thrown up moments after being told she'd just been fed broth made from her brother's heart.

A week ago, she thought, that heart had beat steady and strong, loving her. Now she pissed away its nutrients into the puddle at her feet.

They children were playing stack em high knock em down with the boiled skulls of her friends and followers.

Nobles, servants, guards, brother.

Everyone was equal when they went in the pot, or over the spit roast.

A child had fed her the soup, with a smile kind and broad. That child now hung by the wrist from the tree to which she had been suspended.

That the Suns for that!

Madness begets madness.

Cruelty attracts the cruel.

The attackers left her for the crows. 

They did not care for the meat of The Palpatine Family Group.

It tasted of ash and sulphur.

The attackers left her for the carrion crows.


	2. Chapter Two

**TWO**

The crows told her what to do, where to go.

The crows brought her what food they could carry.

The crows were kind.

She'd remember their aid.

Not wanting their clothes, she found enough to cover her, keep her warm, a pair of boots and a cloak she recognised belonging to her Guard Captain Mitaka, his blood removed with a handful of fern leaves.

The attacking party's attacking party had taken everything else of value.

The children didn't count, they made terrible slaves. Too willful, deceitful, wicked. She knew they'd most likely make soup of their own now. 

The Maul Family Group preferred the Younglings.

She hoped it choked them.

Salty, tasteless, vile and heartwarming.

She missed her brother.

Picking through the remnants of the camp, she found enough to keep her warm for the night, feed her a very stale loaf of bread, and shelter of sorts, under the cart which had carried the bodies of her friends along the forest paths for days.

The raiders didn't need to be followed by sound, the stench was enough.

Incredible to imagine the woman lying, warm and dry, deathly pale could be alive.

Dead inside.

No way of avenging her brother's death, the whole kidnapping company was boiled, eaten, feasted on, salted like pork, dried like beef.

Food for The Maul.

The wolves held back out of respect as the carrion crows picked the flesh and sinew from the bones piled at the side of the clearing.

The wolves held back for her sake, at least the animals knew how to treat a lady.

The pain was excruciating.

The pounding heart in her breast driving each thump of her feet in Mitaka's boots over the forest floor.

The trees were getting out of her way, they had seen and heard enough of her pain, drunk enough of her urine and blood. Her payment for their thoughtfulness, kindness, help.

But rocks and water weren't so benevolent.

A run so fast it was a blur, the shape, half human dark and tall through the trees.

It had been startled from rest by the sound of horses hoofs on the main forest road. The owner and companions were now tearing through the trees in the half light, awaiting a stag's head, a boar's tusk, a meal of their own.

The dogs were faster and had been let off their leashes to run the figure down, run it to ground, tire it out till it died of shock and fatigue.

They'd followed the blood trail for days, knowing the injured animal would soon give up from blood loss, curl up and die, and from the taste of it's blood.

This was something rather unusual.

The dogs returned to their masters, tails between legs, dirty, dishevelled, disobedient.

They'd been shouted at and encouraged to run again.

They had.

As far as the tree line as answering howls cowed their heads, shivered their legs.

They ran back to their masters ashamed and useless.

So the masters on horseback pursued.

The blood trail was easy to follow, on the ground, then on a tree trunk, a splay as of a hand print.

The leader caught a glimpse through the mist, through the trees and began the chase with an almighty roar of pleasure.

She stood on the black sand, treeless under the vault.

“Give my soul to the Suns who will decide my fate”

Words unheard by the pack behind, horses stopped at the break of slope stamped into the ash of the moorland, up away from the lush glades and vales beneath, the wind whipped up warm and clammy. Sulphur fumes drifting up from the fumaroles, familiar and sweet, the mountain at the head of the valley belched forth the gifts of water and air.

A smell of home, she thanked the moorland for its gift, looked down into the narrow river cut gorge below, her toes gripped the cliff edge.

The leader had dismounted, given his horse to another and begun to run up the slope toward the cloaked figure.

She heard him approach, his pounding steps, as hers had been across the sandy soil, covered in gorse and creosote bushes, the only cover from the elements here.

Gorse was friendly.

It hid you from prying eyes, it gripped strong when you needed to climb.

It only asked a drop of blood and a scar as payment for saving your life.

She hardly had any left.

She gave it gladly.

Yet the pursuers found her, they must have been Forest Friends too.

She felt betrayed, held out her broken wrist to the air, listening to the water raging below.

The man stopped running, eyes begging the figure silently, held out his arms as in supplication.

“I won't hurt you”

Yelled into unwelcoming ears, a cloud of sulphur obscuring his vision. The mountain rumbled, it wanted to embrace her and she wanted that too, the Mountain would broke no competitor.

“Please, let us help you”

Two companions had reached him, he gestured for them to circle left and right, fan out to intercept, they may be able to stop this waste of flesh, capture it.

She turned and set her right bloodshot eye on the tall man who stood, arms wide, armour leathered and cracked with mud. One dark gaze from the man, took two stumbled steps towards him to watch his excited, apprehensive face turn surprised and puzzled.

“Good, come, we can...”

She turned and ran to the cliff edge, threw herself into the air and plunged, arms flailing into the chasm.

All she heard in the rushing air and water was the word;

“NO!”

“What was it M'Lord?”

“A woman”

“Of what Family Group?”

“Hard to tell, badly beaten face, I only caught a glimpse as she turned her back on life.”

“What did it look like?”

“It was smiling.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is an on going work, as yet unfinished.  
> I am attempting to work quicker and try to pare down my word counts with fewer descriptions and a smarter dialogue style.  
> God I hope this is all readable.  
> I've no idea yet where this is going, but I do know it will surprise me as well as the reader!
> 
> Have Fun Reading and Writing!


End file.
